


Little Things

by will_o_wisp



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_o_wisp/pseuds/will_o_wisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James does what he has to. Q doesn't like it. James isn't sure how to persuade him of his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vedettal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vedettal/gifts).



> I haven't seen Spectre yet, so this is mostly just me being silly. 
> 
> Happy Birthday, Macklyn

When he got back to the hotel room, water was hot in the bath and there was a bottle of Delamain Cognac sitting with a glass next to it. James studied it for a moment, listening for sounds of life, but he was alone in the suite. He knew he would be, at first.

Savouring the flavours of his drink, he washed up, waiting.

He shaved with a straight razor after bathing, while the drain was going and sucking at the water behind him. He took his time, the way Eva showed him how. He remembered the moments with a little smile, knowing how jealous the thoughts would make a certain someone.

The same jealous someone who, it seemed, had set out all the amenities one needed for a detoxifying night.

He got to the bed, thinking about sleeping until they showed their face. He was crawling onto the soft covers when he heard the door open, and his hand twitched automatically to the gun under his pillow.

He held it, watching, holding his drink casually until he saw the one he was waiting for appear, looking distinctly rumpled by the rain.

“You look gorgeous,” said James, sitting up, letting go of the gun.

Q turned a withering look on him. “I've finished dealing with the scene cleaners.”

“Did she take it alright?”

“She was long gone before we had to make the excuse the suite was compromised,” he responded. “Couldn't make us a cuppa?”

“Sorry. I thought you wouldn't be home until later.”

He got up, waking over to Q, who was looking somewhat annoyed. His hair was matted to his head – obviously forgot his umbrella – and his puffy jacket damp and clinging. James helped him out of it, putting his large warm hands over Q's slender ones.

Womanly soft, James had joked, until Eve had threatened to scalp him.

“I'll make you a cup, if you have a shower.”

“I've had a cold shower,” said Q, bitterly.

“Have a warm one.”

He knew what this was about. It was about Q having to listen again. James didn't know why he didn't get some lacky to do it. This happened every time. The tokens of love, and then the attitude. James didn't know whether to slap him or fuck him against the closest surface.

It took some doing, to finally get Q to begin to strip. Q hated his own body, which was a shame. It was slender and soft, like something unsullied by the outside world. James was normally more attracted to men who kept themselves fit, but something about Q and his shyness, his pale skin and imperfections, made things seem more real.

Grounding.

He finally nudged Q to the bathroom, and leaned past him to turn on the shower, to the right temperature.

Q was staring at his feet. It made James feel a prickle of irritation he had to swallow down, before tilting up his head and giving him a sharp kiss.

It wasn't soft, it wasn't gentle. Usually these nights were the only gentle ones James ever seemed to get. Relaxing, detoxing. But he was so _irritated._

Q pulled away a second later. His eyebrows were pinched together.

“What was that?”

“A token.”

“Of?”

“My annoyance.”

“ _Yours?”_ Q looked incredulous. “What about mine?”

“I'm trying to fix that. Get in.”

Q obeyed, while James called room service. He stayed in the bathroom, keeping an eye on him. Normally James trusted Q to be his neat and orderly self, but that night he felt like they were tipping on the edge of an argument.

Or the breakup that James always thought was inevitable. James didn't do long term relationships.

He ordered a pot of Earl Grey  _just_ on the edge of over-steeped, like Q liked it. And rather go for something he normally deemed romantic, at least in what he'd feed his marks, he went for a simple cheese and game platter, told them to step on it and there'd be a decent tip, and hung up.

Q was drying off when it arrived. James paid, tipped, and rolled it by the bed.

“Are you coming?”

“I am,” said Q, appearing around the corner. “My things aren't here.”

“Wear mine.”

James pushed an overlarge athletics shirt and a pair of boxers at him. They both hung off his frame, making Q look gaunt, but it didn't matter to James. He picked him up all the same and tossed him on the bed, giving Q a smile.

This time, the look Q gave wasn't so angry. Especially not when he caught sight of the food.

“One sugar, squirt of lemon,” said James, fixing him a cup. Feeling more domestic than usual.

“You've finally remembered.”

James had remembered since day one, but fixing tea wasn't something he did for anyone. And normally Q snapped at anyone who tried to prepare it for him. James had seen him go off on someone for not stirring enough.

He handed him the tea anyway and took a grape off the platter. Chewing it, he leaned back in the bed with him, finding his cup of Delamain on the bedside table. He sipped it, watched as Q buried his feet in the blankets and stared resolutely at his cup.

It was coming. James ignored it, until it was screaming in his face, and even then he didn't let his expression change.

Not until Q spoke up.

“You didn't have to seduce her.”

“It was easiest.”

Q made a sound at that. Little. Derisive.

“Look, you knew what my job was like,” said James, setting down an empty glass. “You know what I have to do. And I take the route of least resistance. Seduction seemed easier than trying to ply her for information without it.”

“Easier to enjoy your job that way too.”

James stared at him. “Is that what this is about? You think I enjoy that?”

“You get off.”

“It's just sex. They're just women looking for sex.”

“And emotional attachments.”

“Hardly. She was cheating on her husband. Any emotional attachment was for a man to watch her face while he's inside of her. Maybe a bit of warmth during sex.” He'd never see her again, at least. “And that's all it is to me. Sex. Not romance.”

“Imitation romance.”

“Perhaps. But there's real things and fake things.”

“And us? Real or fake.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean it, James.”

“Real. Do I have to spell it out? Look at this, what we do for each other. Christ, you got me to make you bloody tea. You got me to – to have a decent apartment, with you. I gave you a key.”

Q chewed his lip a moment in a nervous gesture. James didn't know if he was winning or losing.

“I even – I even walked that stupid cat of yours.” A cat he moaned and complained about endlessly. An ugly Persian thing that snored like a bulldog and was just as big and stocky. Which Q had trained on a damn leash.

He'd  _walked_ it.

This made Q crack a smile. “What did I tell you, about bad mouthing Sir Winston?”

“I don't remember and I suspect you'll tell me again.”

James smiled too now, and Q set down his cup.

“I've decided to let one of my helpers listen into your dalliances.”

_About bloody time._ “Mm.”

Q turned his head now. He looked imploringly at James a moment, before he leaned in to kiss him. It was almost as sharp as what they'd had in the bathroom together, and James parted his lips for him. Ceded dominance, for once, in favour of letting Q work out everything that was bothering him.

When they pulled away James was more than a little interested, and his hand was on Q's hip, squeezing. His thumb pressing against the soft dip there, before he curled his fingers in the fabric and tugged down.

He caught a look from Q and smiled at him, a lazy seductive thing, before leaning in for another kiss. James pushed him down onto the bed, covering his body with his own, rolling his hips.

“You really ready for round two?”

James nipped him for that. It made Q pinch him, and James pinned his wrists. “Is that how it's going to be?”

“Maybe it ought to be,” said Q, breathlessly.

James growled at that. He pulled his clothes off of Q, tossing them both aside, even striking the lamp next to the bed, making it cast dim, filtered light.

He found Q's mouth in a sharp kiss. He sucked his lip, pulled with his teeth, and felt Q's fingers find his hair and tug.

There was a certain amount of give and take. Lube was found in the drawer, like James expected. A few condoms. He ripped one open with his teeth, pushing a finger inside of Q. Making him gasp and squirm, beg for more.

Sensing what Q wanted,  _really_ wanted, he gave it. Pushed another finger inside, working him open fast and rough. He dealt with the scratches even though his body was supposed to be blemish free for the duration of the job.

Their kisses were rough and passionate, and Q cried out long and low as James pushed inside of him, opened him.

They took each other apart piece by piece. James had sworn he'd never love again after Vesper.

He wondered if maybe he'd broken the promise.

 


End file.
